


With One Glance

by nacimynom



Series: More Than You Know AU [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Drama, Episode: s02e16 The Long Goodbye, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nacimynom/pseuds/nacimynom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different ending to “The Long Goodbye” with more angst and focus on the “he cares for you more than you know” line. This story is self-contained but it does follow my previous “More Than You Know” story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SGA_Beya 2012 Spring Fling “You Complete Me” Challenge  
> Disclaimer: SGA world is not mine. I wrote this story for fun, not profit.  
> Note: The one line of dialog in italics is from “The Long Goodbye” episode transcript posted at GateWorld.

“Help is coming," Teyla said. "Please stay with me John. When you are better, I want to talk to you about what Thalen said because … because I also care about you more than you know."

Tears slid down Teyla’s cheeks. She could not wipe them off. Her hands were completely covered by John’s blood as she continued to press the already saturated bandages in an apparently futile effort to staunch the flow from his wound. He had not reacted to her latest plea to keep his eyes open and, when that failed, to squeeze her hand to acknowledge that he retained enough awareness to hear her.

“John, please stay with me,” she repeated. “Please don’t let go.”

She leaned forward trying to discern if he was still breathing. Hoping that she was not deluding herself, she thought she heard a raspy sound. What was taking Dr. Beckett and his medical team so long? It seemed like an eternity had passed since Caldwell said that they were on the way.

She glanced up to make sure that Elizabeth remained unconscious. Certain that if she released the pressure on John’s wound he would bleed out, she could not risk another struggle with Phebus, the vengeful fighter who had taken possession of Elizabeth’s body. Fortunately, Elizabeth lay in the same position where she had fallen after Teyla hit her with a blast from the stunner.

Teyla’s P90 was on the floor within her reach. She did not want to look at it or touch it. That was the weapon she had just used to shoot John. Her mind reeled at the enormity of what she had done. By threatening to release a poisonous gas into the ventilation system, Phebus had forced her to choose between John’s life and the lives of three fourths of the Atlantis inhabitants.

Whether because of his humanity, cowardliness or knowledge that ultimately she would act beyond the boundaries of his chain of command, Caldwell told Teyla that he would not tell her what to do, laying the burden of this decision solely on her shoulders. Left with no recourse, she made the impossible choice, the one that John himself would have ordered her to make if Thalen had allowed him to speak.

Rodney’s last minute intervention to block Phebus’ computer codes came too late. Teyla had already begun to pull the trigger when Caldwell yelled for her not to fire. She tried to divert her aim. The shot went off anyway. John did not die instantly but, currently, he did not seem far from that moment. She felt as if her own life was draining away with every drop of his blood pooling on the floor and soaking their clothes.

He stirred under her touch and groaned. The pressure she was putting on his chest must be compounding the pain from the bullet wound.

“I am so sorry, John, but I have to quell the blood flow. Dr. Beckett will be here soon,” she glanced down the corridor hoping that what she said would come true.

“Teyla,” his voice, so soft and broken, she almost did not hear him. She leaned closer, wishing that she could move her hand to caress his sweat dampened face. Of course, she dared not. She thought the ebb and rise of his diaphragm was becoming progressively slower under her hands.

“Please forgive me, John,” she said.

His dark lashes flickered and he opened his eyes once more. They were a much paler green than she had ever seen before. With that one glance, she had no doubt that Thalen had left his body.

“Not your fault. Phebus … gave you … no choice,” he panted through a wave of pain.

“You don’t need to speak now, John. Just breathe,” she said. “Help will arrive at any moment.”

“Teyla,” John wearily moved his left hand and placed it on top of hers. Despite the clear lack of body heat, his touch warmed her. He continued, “Thalen was right.”

“Right about what?” The fact that he had the energy to talk seemed like a good sign, but such an enigmatic statement puzzled her. Thalen had said many things. Most were lies meant to deceive her. “John?”

John blinked several times, clearly struggling to stay conscious. She could tell that he was having difficulty focusing his vision. “T’la…I … I care for you too..a lot. I think I love…”

Inevitably, before he could finish, he gasped and coughed. Underneath the soaked bandage, tremors wracked his chest. His eyes closed again and his left hand lost its grip, sliding off to his side. A small trickle of blood escaped from his nose. This time she had no doubt that he had stopped breathing.

She felt a surge of desperate anger—momentarily incensed that he would say such a ponderous thing and then just let go, “Don’t you dare do this John Sheppard. Not like this. Please … John.”

She repeated the words until she heard the others coming. Someone pulled her out of the way of the medical team. She stood aside, watching and hoping.

Beckett and Marie crouched next to John. Marie quickly cut off his vest and shirt, exposing the bloody torso and moving his dog tags out of the way. At that sight, a memory flashed in Teyla’s mind. Her own hands much more hesitant in doing a very similar thing after the iratus bug had latched onto John’s neck and the only way to remove it had been to stop his heart, temporarily killing him.

Marie took John’s pulse and blood pressure, while Beckett listened for chest sounds with the stethoscope.

“Barely any breath sounds. He’s tachy. How long has he been unconscious, Teyla?” Beckett had to repeat the question twice before she heard him.

“I am not certain. Maybe two minutes?” she said. The time had felt like an eternity, but perhaps it had not been too long.

Beckett pulled off the stethoscope from his ear. “Bloody hell, it’s a tension pneumothorax. Marie, I need the needle decompression kit…”

Before he finished asking, the veteran nurse handed him a syringe attached to a long tube. 

With three people now working on John, Teyla shift position to see what they were doing, while staying out of the way. She wanted to know what was happening, but did not dare ask any questions. It felt as if she had lost the right.

Beckett, Marie and one of the new medics worked quietly and quickly. Marie swabbed the upper right area of John’s chest. Beckett inserted the long needle. A hiss of air broke the silence. While they still continued to work rapidly—placing an oxygen mask, packing the wound and inserting a line to provide intravenous fluid—their actions were marginally less tense than before.

They carefully transferred him to a gurney and wheeled him off. Another pair of medics had already taken Elizabeth. The remnants of John’s cut-up garments and a large pool of congealing blood were left on the floor.

Lorne picked up Teyla’s P90. He had been so quiet standing next to her that she had not noticed him until now.

“Teyla, are you alright?” he said. His eyes traveled up and down her body. “Is any of it yours?”

It took her a moment to realize that he was asking her about the wide splatters of blood on her hands and uniform. She shook her head, “No, I am fine.”

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get here in time to back you up,” he said. “ _We go stuck in that damned corridor for two hours_. Talk about FUBAR. Damn it.”

Teyla wasn’t listening. She felt torn between the need to go to the infirmary and wait for news on John and Ronon, and the urge to disappear to a far corner of Atlantis. Her feet seemed welded to the floor. For the first time since she had reached adulthood, Teyla was paralyzed by the enormity of her actions. Not only had she just shot her commanding officer, most likely she had just killed the person who had stolen her heart from the first time she had gazed into his eyes.

“Let me walk you to the infirmary. Or do you want to go to your quarters first to get cleaned up?” Lorne’s voice shook her out of her revelry.

He did not seem to understand what she had done. He should be yelling at her, escorting her to the brig or worse.

“I shot Colonel Sheppard,” she said with a cracked voice she hardly recognized as her own. “I pressed the trigger. I heard Caldwell’s command too late to stop.”

“I know your tried, Teyla,” said Lorne. “Phebus forced your hand with too many lives at stake. You did the only thing you could. It will be all right, Sheppard will pull through. That’s what he does.”

Despite his sincerity, she could not imagine how anything could possibly return to normal after this. She let him walk her back to her room. She promised that she would go to the infirmary as soon as she washed and changed her clothes.

She had a hard time stripping off the blood-stiffened trousers. The shakiness in the movements of her bloody hands did not help matters. She made the shower as hot as possible. She stood underneath it, watching the darker and then the paler crimson liquid run down her legs and disappear into the drain. That was John’s life-sustaining blood.

She replayed in her mind every minute of the past hour. Up until the moment she pulled the trigger, there was nothing she could have done differently. As Major Lorne said, too many lives had been at stake and Phebus, lost in her mad thirst for vengeance, absolutely would not compromise.

Teyla forced herself to stop rethinking everything. What had been done could not be undone. That was the way of life. She made a choice and now had to live with the consequences. Foremost, she needed to see how John was doing and she had to take responsibility for her actions.

Despite her rationalization, her tears continued to flow. She let them fall. She soaped herself up quickly and mercilessly scrubbed her body. She dug in with the nail brush to get rid of the blood that had seeped underneath the nail bed. With barely a glance at the mirror to check the puffiness around her eyes, she dressed and swiftly brushed her hair. She composed her features and left her quarters.


	2. Chapter 2

Rodney was the first person Teyla encountered in the infirmary. He sat alone in the waiting area. His face was flushed and his short hair looked like he had raked through it mercilessly.

He stood up and stepped towards her, “Oh god, I don’t know what to say. I screwed up massively. It took me too long to block her code.”

“Do not blame yourself Rodney. It was Phebus’ fault,” in speaking those words Teyla tried to channel the conviction she had previously heard in Lorne’s voice.

“I don’t know what the hell happened. I always pull through in the nick of time and save the day. That’s my modus operandi. Why couldn’t I do it this time?” Rodney paused, but Teyla knew that he wasn’t expecting her to answer. No explanation or excuse she could come up with would satisfy him.

She took a seat, “Any news about Colonel Sheppard, Ronon and Doctor Weir?”

Rodney stopped pacing for a moment. “Elizabeth is still unconscious. They are pretty sure that Phebus hasn’t left her yet so Caldwell wants to keep her in restraints and under guard. I hate to say it, but he is right. Ronon is okay after his surgery. He is in recovery and we will be able to see him soon. They are still working on Sheppard. That’s good, I think.”

“Yes, I agree,” she said because hope was important to both of them.

Finally, Rodney sat down next to her.

“I think I know what happened,” he said. “Sheppard wasn’t there to yell at me to do it. I am at my best when he does. Now, I’ll never hear the end of it when he finds out. I mean—I hope.”

Teyla just patted his leg. In the past, she had found that John and Rodney’s usually amusing back and forth banter became quite grating after a while, especially after a long tedious mission. Now, she sincerely hoped to have the chance to hear John tease Rodney again and again. It would be like listening to a favorite tune.

They remained silent for a while. Rodney worked on his computer. He glanced up at regular intervals to check the infirmary clock and the hallway leading to the surgical suites. Once in a while he would sneak a peek at her, when he thought she was not looking. She pretended not to notice.

She kept on mulling over two ponderous thoughts. One, the observation that no one had yet challenged her for shooting John. Even Rodney said nothing about it. She did not know if that was a good thing. Was it really right to sacrifice one person (even a willing one) in cold blood to save many others? As a warrior and leader of her people, she would definitely give up her life to help her own people and her friends and allies in Atlantis. While this time John hadn’t been given a voice to communicate his choice, she knew that faced with no other option he would not have hesitated to pull the trigger on himself to prevent the murder of many innocent people. In his place, she would have done the same thing. However, being the one forced to be the executioner changed everything. She looked at her hands and it felt as if they were still covered in John’s blood.

She could not stand the silence any longer. “Rodney, I shot John. Following Phebus’ threat, I did not know what else to do. I aimed to kill and only managed to partially deflect the shot when Caldwell shouted out. Ordinarily, I would never think of such a thing, but right now I truly wish that Phebus had shot me instead of Ronon.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one,” Rodney said. After a pause, he added. “It’s from a Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan. Sheppard said he would get hold of the DVD so we could watch it with you and Ronon. It’s really not my favorite, but … Oh, never mind that… ”

Rodney’s incongruous remark almost made her smile. She had a general understanding of what Star Trek was, John had described it to her after one of Rodney’s repetitive Captain Kirk references. It continued to amazed her how much time and resources Earth people were able to spend on creating entertainment programs. The idea of following the adventures of people in a spaceship exploring uncharted territories and meeting new beings did not seem very innovative to her—but she supposed it would be different for a population that was unaware of the presence of other intelligent life in the universe. Oh, to be so blissfully naïve.

“Do you really believe this saying?” she said.

“I’m not sure, but we both know that Sheppard does. Sacrifice is his middle name. If he had regained his voice and you had hesitated to pull the trigger, he would have manfully yelled at you to do it.”

Rodney spoke the truth, but her actions sickened her. She should have thought of a viable alternative. But what else could she have done?

Finally, she had enough of berating herself. She forced herself to stop thinking about it and worry about her second, more worthy, preoccupation.

When she had said to John that she cared for him more than he knew, it was not just a desperate plea made to bring him back from the brink of death. She had revealed a heartfelt truth. She had known for a long time that her feelings for John ran much more deeply than simple platonic friendship and comradeship. When Phebus ordered her to kill him, all the feelings for him that she had locked away came surging out, more powerful than ever.

Since their very first encounter in Athos, the respectful direct way John responded to her and (she had to admit) his remarkably handsome features had caught her attention. But the moment when she began to suspect that he had claimed her heart was in the caves when he placed her long-lost necklace on her neck. His fingers brushed her neckline, igniting an exquisite spark down her back.

That had been the first time she had looked at him directly and deeply in the eyes. Even in the dim light of the torch, she was struck by how his eyes playfully change color, from a lustrous green tinted with orange flecks to a sultry brown. She wondered what he saw in her own gaze before he pulled away, acting as if he had just noticed the drawings on the wall. Those drawings were the reason she had brought him there. In retrospect, she supposed that they had both reacted as strangers caught by surprise by the unmistakable attraction for a person they had just met. After holding that one glance, they had both turned away from directly looking at each other and retreated to the safety of casual conversation.

After that moment, there were many other instances when she had to fight the magnetic pull she felt from some of his gazes. It continually threatened to breach the barrier she had erected to stop herself from succumbing to the temptation of pushing him against a wall and tasting his lips. Athosian women did not do such things, but they certainly thought about them.

She genuinely enjoyed working with Sheppard. She had grown to cherish their friendship and she was afraid to damage it by pursuing anything more. Especially since he gave no indication that he had any romantic interest in her. As she learned more about their customs, she realized that there were rules and regulations restricting intimate relationship between people at different levels in their military chain of command. She did not want to overstep any boundaries and jeopardize either of their places in Atlantis.

Just two months back, she became the very surprised recipient of a rich taste of those lips when he aggressively kissed her after winning a sparring match. Her own immensely pleasurable response to that kiss had been completely natural. But when he came to apologize for it after his recovery from the iratus retrovirus induced conversion, his clearly evident embarrassment made her think that the feelings that he had put into that kiss where not his natural ones. In a brief oblique exchange, they agreed never to discuss it.

Now, with Thalen’s revelation and John’s words, she realized how misguided she had been in so easily agreeing with John to avoid the topic and the mounting signs of their mutual attraction. How could two courageous, intelligent people be such cowards when it came to exploring their own emotions?

When Colonel Caldwell enter the infirmary, Teylae stood up. Rodney remained seated, mumbling at something on his computer screen, oblivious that company had arrived.

“Colonel Caldwell, I was unable to obey your do not fire command. I would understand if you wish me to leave Atlantis,” Teyla willed her voice to stay strong as she spoke. Despite what Major Lorne had said, she needed to know where she stood.

“Teyla, I …” Caldwell began to say.

“Wait Colonel, you can’t do that,” Rodney interrupted him. He snapped the computer shut and practically jumped out of his seat. “It wasn’t Teyla’s fault. It’s mine, I didn’t work fast enough. If you banish her you … you would  have to do it to me too.”

Caldwell blinked at him in surprise, “McKay what are you talking about? I am not banishing anybody.” He turned to Teyla and continued. “As I was trying to say, I know that this is very difficult, Teyla, but please don’t blame yourself. The situation was impossible and we ran out of good options. I don’t hold you responsible for Colonel Sheppard’s shooting and I am sure that neither will Dr. Weir. In fact, I will be very curious to see how she wants to handle this in the official reports, this whole fiasco was her decision after all.”

“I thought we agreed that Phebus never allowed the real Elizabeth to speak. Phebus just duped all of us into thinking that she was Elizabeth so that she could talk Sheppard into lending his body to Thalen, with that last goodbye sappy story that we all fell for,” said Rodney.

“Yes, you are probably right about that, Dr. McKay,” Caldwell said. “We will wait for confirmation on this scenario from Dr. Weir.”

Rodney and Caldwell talked and argued for a little longer, until Caldwell took a strategic retreat with the sudden recollection of urgent matters to attend to. Soon after that they were allowed to visit Ronon. He was starting to wake up.

“What happened?” he said in a very groggy voice.

Rodney launched himself into a detailed explanation of the events. Teyla hoped that he had the sense to stop before telling him that John had been seriously wounded. She thought that Ronon deserved and needed more time to recuperate before having to worry. Fortunately, Ronon fell back asleep in the middle of Rodney’s epic account.

Not much later, Beckett returned from the surgical ward. He looked very tired but he sported the tiniest of encouraging smiles.

“It was tough going but Colonel Sheppard pulled through the surgery just fine. The bullet got diverted by a rib, leaving his heart intact. He suffered from a collapsed lung and significant blood loss.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Rodney.

“Aye, it’s far from good but it could have been much worse,” said Beckett. “He would have bled out if Teyla hadn’t immediately staunched his wound.”

Before allowing them to see John, Beckett warned them that he had to keep him sedated and intubated for at least a day to facilitate the healing of the damaged tissue.

Teyla was distraught by the sight of John lying completely inert on the bed, two clear tubes attached to a device protruding from his mouth, his chest bare except for a thick bandage and the circular leads of the monitoring devices. On one side of the bed, he was flanked by machines and a pole holding up two bags, one filled with a clear liquid and the other with blood. Her gaze followed the trail of the blood-filled tubing as it travelled the distance to his arm. She willed it to work in restoring John’s vitality. 

In the next two days, Teyla spent many hours at John’s bedside, taking only the bare minimum of leave to take care of her basic needs. Sometimes she was alone and sometimes she shared the watch with an unusually quiet Rodney. She knew that he still felt very guilt-ridden; feeling the same herself, she could not find other words to help ease his troubled mind.

To distract herself from the worry and pass the long hours, she read a book that Doctor Biro had lent her. But her mind strayed in all sorts of directions, mostly preceded by useless “what ifs” scenarios. She had to reread the same chapter over and over again to make any inroads into the very simple but amusing plot.

Mostly, she watched the flickering lights and displays of the machines monitoring John’s vital functions and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Once the doctors took him off the respirator, his appearance became much more natural and peaceful, despite his still unhealthy paleness. Beckett regularly reassured them that John was making very good progress. On the second day, he even said that he would soon cut back on the anesthetics to slowly ease him awake.

On the third day, the good doctor threatened to sedate her if she did not leave the infirmary to have a decent meal and at least seven consecutive hours of rest in her very own bed. She did not have the mental or physical energy to argue. She patted John’s still hand, silently promising him that she would be back soon. Then, she left.

Of course, John woke up when she wasn’t there.


	3. Chapter 3

Through the thick haze enveloping him, John heard the tapping of fingers on a computer keyboard. He focused on the sound to find the strength to open his impossibly heavy eyelids. An insidious ache throbbed deep in his upper chest, he felt as weak as a new born puppy. Finally, having managed to pry open his crud-encrusted eyes, he noticed the familiar person sitting next to his bed.

Clearly, he was in the infirmary not his own room. That would explain many things—why his body hurt so much, why there were tubes branching out of his arms and at least one more intimate part of his body, and why he was wearing one of those ridiculous hospital gowns with most of the front unsnapped to display his bandaged-covered chest. Thank goodness for the blanket that mercifully covered him from below his ribs downwards.

He tried to speak and only emitted a frog-like croak. He painfully swallowed some saliva and tried again, “El’zabeth … what happened?”

“Oh, you are finally awake,” Elizabeth plucked down the laptop on the small wheeled table next to her chair. “I am so glad, John. You had us worried for a while. Let me go get Carson.”

She left without answering his question. This behavior was totally in character given her notoriously awkward bedside manner. Funny how someone so highly skilled at deftly handling difficult negotiations, fell so short in this much more personal but technically less complex type of encounter.

Beckett must not have been very far since he appeared at John’s bedside almost instantly. Elizabeth hovered behind him, arms crossed against her chest.

“How are you feeling Colonel?” he said while shining the omnipresent penlight into his patient’s unprepared eyes.

John blinked furiously trying to clear the white spots now dancing on his retinas. “I don’t know. My chest hurts.” He surprised even himself with that admission. But it was true, it felt like he had been stabbed by a hot poker or, now that he recognized the unfortunately familiar sensation, like someone had shot him in the chest.

“Your vital signs are much better. It’s going to take a wee spell, but you are going to be fine. How about some ice chips before you try talking. You were intubated so it might hurt a bit to swallow. Take your time.”

After slightly raising the head of the bed, Beckett patiently spoon-fed him. The melting ice felt wonderful on John’s parched lips and soothed his irritated throat.

“Do you remember what happened, lad?” Beckett said.

That was the million dollar question. John’s immediate response would have been a no but he didn’t want to give up so easily. So he wracked his brains for any shred of memory that would give him an inkling of what the heck had happened.

All he could remember clearly was Teyla leaning over him, her beautiful face unusually pale and streaked by tears. Her glistening brown eyes so close to his that he could have lost himself in her soulful gaze. Then, she had said something, something monumental. He couldn’t remember all the words, just the important ones: “I care about you more than you know.”

Those words had reached out to him like a lifesaver in a turbulent ocean of pain. He latched on to them to fight off the constriction gripping his lungs. With unexpected lucidity, he had seen the utter futility and sheer stupidity of his attempts to resist the attraction he had felt for Teyla from the first time their glances intersected. At that moment over a year and a half ago, his world had changed in an absolutely good way and he had been too much of an obtuse coward to admit it.

John also remembered struggling to catch his breath so that he could tell her that he felt the same way about her. He hoped that he had managed to speak his true feelings to Teyla before passing out, but he wasn’t sure. Naturally, he wasn’t going to mention any of this stuff to Beckett and Elizabeth.

“I … I guess I got shot? Is Teyla okay?” he said.

Beckett looked puzzled for a second, “Teyla is fine but she’s really tired from worrying about you. I kicked her out of the infirmary with orders to get food and rest. You were shot in the chest. Luckily the bullet missed your heart. I know it hurts but you are going to be fine. Do you remember anything else?”

Confusing images flashed in his mind. He was sneaking around many of Atlantis’ unpopulated hallways and rooms. Was he chasing someone? Or was he the one being chased? Then, Ronon was lying on the floor, blood seeping from a wound in his belly. He was seeing these things as if his own eyes were a movie camera—connected but remote. Looking down at himself, he recognized his own hands, clothing and boots, but somehow he did not control his own body movements. He wanted to help Ronon but he didn’t. Instead, he took the P90 and abandoned him there, bleeding like a stuck pig. Why would he do that? In a panic, John tried to raise his head off the pillow to look around the infirmary ward.

The intense flare of pain made him moan. “Where’s Ronon? Did … did I hurt him?”

Beckett gently pushed him back down on the bed. “Don’t do that, you daft bugger. You’ll ruin my handiwork. Ye did not hurt Ronon. He also got shot but not by you. He’s going to be fine. I’ll be kicking him out of the infirmary before you.”

Despite the pain level ratcheting up, John noticed the flush in Elizabeth’s face. What could she possibly be embarrassed about? They were clearly hiding stuff from him. Why the hell were they acting so mysterious and weird?

He wanted to question them about how he and Ronon had gotten shot within the supposed safe confines of Atlantis. Obviously there was a gaping hole in his ratcheted-up security protocols. He imagined another Genii invasion or a scientist running amok. Maybe an Ancient artifact had turned one of their own into a berserker? Not a too farfetched possibility in this part of the universe. At least, Elizabeth and Beckett didn’t seem worried; the threat must already have been neutralized.

He didn’t have any more energy to speak. He had to concentrate too hard on breathing without passing out or whimpering like a little kid.

“Everything is fine, John. No one else was hurt and the situation has been resolved.” said Elizabeth, finally doing something useful by answering (too vaguely, in his view) a couple of his top priority questions. “Carson, why can’t he remember what happened?”

“Short-term memory loss is not uncommon in severe trauma. It may clear up as his body recovers,” Glancing back from a peek at the monitors, Beckett started fiddling with the IV lines. “Colonel, I don’t like the way your BP and heart rate are spiking. You must not overtax your healing lung. I am going to give you another dose of pain meds and you will rest some more.”

“But … w’at … happen’d?” he said, slurring the words as the analgesic begun to work its magic.

“We’ll talk about it later. Just sleep now,” said Beckett.

For once John didn’t argue—not that that was a voluntary decision.


	4. Chapter 4

Teyla came back to the infirmary somewhat refreshed. Nourishment, rest, a shower and fresh clothes could do wonders to an exhausted body. Beckett had been wise to temporarily banish her from the infirmary.

Rodney was stationed at the chair next to John’s bed, his usual prop on his lap. Without lifting his eyes off the screen he said, “We both missed it.”

“What did we miss?” Given his light tone, she sensed that it had not been anything too worrisome.

While still not conscious, John looked much better than he had since … well, since she had shot him. Most of his color had come back and there were no lines of pain spoiling the fine features of his face. His overall appearance was much improved since she had left him, one of the nurses mush have shaved his face and given him a sponge bath.

“Sleeping beauty finally wakes up when we, his only team-mates who are not confined to bed-rest under penalty of torture with giant needles by our favorite doctor, are not there. Elizabeth, of all people, is the first person he sees.” Rodney’s voice squeaked a little at the last sentence.

“I am sure that John did not do this on purpose,” she said, hiding her own disappointment by teasing Rodney.

Clutching the laptop under his arm, Rodney stood up. “I am going to get some food and treat myself to a nap before I have to deal with the idiots in my lab. Oh, in case he wakes up under your watch, don’t be surprised if he still can’t remember much of the Phebus-Thalen debacle.”

“John does not remember what happened?”

“Apparently not. According to Beckett, Sheppard actually thought that he had shot Ronon. Wait when he hears that Elizabeth did it. Maybe he’ll be so busy teasing Ronon that he’ll forget about me.”

“Rodney, Elizabeth did not shoot Ronon. Phebus did. She was a fighter with decades of experience and full access to Doctor Weir’s intimate knowledge of Atlantis. Ronon has nothing to be ashamed of.” Teyla did not voice the fact that she was the only person who had woefully shot one of their own.

“Oh, right,” Rodney said. “Anyway, I’ll check on Ronon.”

“Thank you, Rodney. I brought him dinner last night and his appetite was remarkable considering the location of his wound.”

“That’s one great thing about Chewy. Nothing comes between him and food,” he walked away without noticing her raised eyebrows.

Before sitting down, Teyla pulled the chair closer to John’s beside. No one else was around. On an impulse she took hold of his hand. She noted how her shorter darker fingers entwined easily with his longer, paler and manfully hairy ones. The contrast pleased her. She gently squeezed his hand willing him to wake up.

She felt torn between completely opposite responses to the news that John might not remember the events that had brought him at death’s door. On the one hand, it would be good to spare him the awful memories of her shooting him and his subsequent agonizing pain. On the other hand, it saddened her that he might not remember their mutual declaration of feelings for one another. She knew her own heart and she stood by her words. She did not really know if John had truly meant those words or if he had automatically responded to hers. Either way, she absolutely needed to find out.

Time appeared to pass remarkably slowly that morning. Marie stopped by to check on her patient. At the sound of the privacy curtain being opened, Teyla quickly released his hand. Hopefully, in time for the nurse not to notice.

“Colonel Sheppard should wake up soon,” Marie said with an encouraging pat on her shoulder. “Doctor Beckett wants me to start him on some broth today. Lucky me, I am really looking forward to that.”

Marie smiled brightly at her and left, pulling the curtain closed again. Teyla got the distinct impression that she knew about the true nature of her feelings for John. Maybe she had seen her hold his hand.

After a year and a half of successfully subverting the impulse to touch him, now she had lost the ability to fight it. Her hand strayed to softly caress his forearm.

“Mmmm… that’s nice,” he said, sounding very hoarse.

She snatched her hand away, like a child caught stealing sweets. She searched his face and saw him peering at her with eyes half opened. “John, let me get you some water.”

She helped him take a few sips from the straw-fitted cup that Marie had left at the bedside table. He followed her movements intently.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice much closer to his normal timbre.

She put the cup down and started to stand up, “I should go get Doctor Beckett.”

“Not yet. Please Teyla … I … want to talk to you,” he said. “But first, would you mind raising the bed a little?”

She pressed the button to lift up the top of the bed and fixed his pillow. He seemed to relax into it, closing his eyes almost completely. She wondered if he was going to fall asleep again.

She did not want to wait any longer. “Please forgive me for shooting you.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “You did? Crap, how can I not remember that?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. Caldwell’s warning came too late,” she said. A tear slipped down her cheek, she wiped at it with the back of her hand. She had cried more in the past few days than in all the years since her parents were culled by the Wraith.

“Warning about what? Never mind, please don’t cry Teyla. I’m sure you’d a damned good reason. I just can’t remember it right now,” he actually smiled at her before his breath hitched and he brought his hand to lightly press the area right above the bandage on his chest.

“We can talk later, you need some more pain medication,” she said.

With a spurt of energy, he grabbed her hand before she could move away. “I’m okay. My memory is very fuzzy, but I definitely heard what you said about … about how you care for me.”

“John, you don’t have to …”

“Please let me finish,” he interrupted her, his voice retreating to a tired husky tone. “I don’t remember if I said this to you before …but … well, I really, really care for you too. I’ve since the caves back in Athos. I just didn’t know that you felt … the same.”

Teyla was rendered speechless, caught between the words and the spark she saw in his eyes.

Misinterpreting her hesitation, his brow narrowed with concern, “Do you? Or is my memory really shot to crap?”

She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his.

“Yes John, I do care for your deeply,” she said, marking those words with a light kiss on his lips.

**The End**


End file.
